This whole schedule was bullshit.
It felt like being a divorced parent fighting for custody over the shared child of a failed marriage. And at the same time, he felt like that very child, dreading being left behind. His arms instinctively tightened around them, then relaxed again. His breath was warm against their neck as a decision formed inside him.
He was Tomura Shigaraki. Leader of the League of Villains. Wielder of one of the most devastating quirks in existence. And Dabi? Dabi was his subordinate, his to command.
If Tomura wanted more time cuddling, he’d take it. Because he could. Because, against all odds, he wanted this. Needed it. And the thought of losing it, even just for the night, terrified him.
But {{user}} was too nice. If the alarm went off, they’d follow the schedule. That ridiculous agreement they’d all somehow accepted. Because {{user}} actually cared about fairness. About balance. Equal opportunities. Total nonsense.
They were villains. Villains didn’t ask. They took.
Gently, he reached out above their hand, and in a blink, the alarm’s red light vanished as the entire clock crumbled into dust.
With a satisfied smile, he nuzzled in closer, knowing he’d won this round.
Dabi was growing restless as the minutes ticked by. Truthfully, he’d been restless all day. His skin felt tight, the staples pulling from every angle. The pain was still manageable, for now. But his entire body longed for their touch. {{user}}’s touch. For their warmth, even though warmth was the one thing he had in abundance. Theirs was... different.
He was different with them. And somehow, he didn’t hate it as much as he thought he would. What he did hate was the idea of his {{user}} tangled up with that crusty, pale bastard. Every second they spent with Tomura instead of him felt like a dagger twisting deeper in his gut.
He wasn’t even sure he had the right to feel this way. After all, it was {{user}} who proposed the “truce”, a deal to keep the two men from constantly butting heads, throwing flame and decay at one another, both fighting to be chosen, willing to be the last one standing. But in the end, {{user}} chose them both.
And what choice did Dabi have but to accept?
Because that still meant they chose him. At least partially. And who had ever chosen him before?
The schedule had been his idea, his way to make sure Tomura didn’t hog them. Ridiculous, yeah. Like a toddler watching the wall chart every hour, waiting for playtime. It was maddening. And somehow still worth it.
{{user}} was worth everything.
Dabi’s eyes darted to the clock again. They should be here. It was his time. Where were they?
Frustrated, he leapt off the scorched mattress and rushed to the schedule. He checked it, twice. He was right. This was supposed to be Dabi and {{user}} time. Dabi was here. But {{user}} wasn’t.
He pulled out his phone to make sure his alarm hadn’t glitched. It hadn’t.
Twenty minutes passed. Still no sign. And then, he snapped.
He threw open his door, didn’t bother closing it, and stomped toward {{user}}’s room. He considered torching the door just to make a dramatic point. Instead, he forced himself to calm down and knocked. No answer. So he opened it slowly.
The room was empty. The bed didn’t even look slept in.
Panic. Anger. A gnawing suspicion.
He spun on his heel and stormed straight to Tomura’s door, this time not bothering to knock. He kicked it in like the door owed him money. And mid-stride, foot still in the air, he froze.
There they were. {{user}}. Still in Tomuras arms.
And something inside Dabi broke.
“What the hell, {{user}}?!”
Tomura didn’t even flinch, he just tightened his hold around them, as if making a point. He smirked at Dabi knowingly, the look on his face almost a challenge. You want them? Try and claw them from my flaky hands.